THE NEXT TWO DAYS WENT BY WITHOUT ANY PROBLEMS ARISING. Three full days of training for Katniss and Peeta. And each day the sinking feeling in Sage's stomach became more and more nauseating. So when he was asked to appear alongside Gloss from District One with Caesar Flickerman for a brief interview before scores were announced, Sage was almost relieved. Being trapped in the penthouse until the games began was suffocating, it left him with his thoughts and the nausea that practically paralyzed him every morning after Peeta and Katniss left for the training center. The task of having to act as if he was thrilled about this years games was almost like a breath of fresh air.

"—if you would control yourself a bit...this wouldn't be an issue." Marcel stated firmly as Sage laid across the end of his bed and Marcel held one of his eyes open before squeezing a few drops into his eye. "Keep them closed once these are in there." he ordered as the drops stung Sages eye before he moved onto the next one. "Keep them closed."

Sage felt his eyes burn the longer he held his eyes close. He had to squeeze them so tight that he felt his cheeks start to throb. "I'm trying, the hell are these-" Sage exclaimed quickly, letting his hands shoot up to his eyes to hold them close.

"-your consequences, they're your consequences, Sage." Marcel interjected, "For using those morphling tablets five times a day every day for a week."

"It's not five fucking times..." Sage muttered.

"I was being generous. It's probably eight times-"

"I've had a long week, okay?"

"Well, every time you have a long week we'll have to use these to get rid of the yellow that's turning up in the whites of your eyes." Marcel said in a matter of fact tone.

This was not something he was expecting to deal with this year, but here he was. Marcel was right, he had been using the morphling tablets more than normal. But it was all that could help him sleep, or even calm his nerves and nausea enough so he could eat. And that morning had been the first time he noticed the inner and outer corners of his eyes no longer white. A dull shade of yellow had began to creep to the front of his eyes, and that paired with the dark circles under his eyes, Sage was beginning to have the sickly look that he had dreaded having.

"You have the morphling to me in the first place-"

Sage heard Marcel scoff, "Because you looked like hell and had been in the arena."

"Mhm..." Sage muttered, pressing on his eyelids so hard that he was beginning to feel pressure in the back of his eyes. "Is it supposed to feel like it's burning?"

"Grey or red? Which suit are you thinking?"

"Grey." Sage stated sharply, "Marcel, is it supposed to burn?"

"They'll burn more if you open your eyes." Marcel stated, "For your tie, I'm thinking dark red-"

"Sure that works, but how long do I have to leave these in?"

"Just a couple more minutes." Marcel replied, "Then you can go ahead and rinse them out."

"A couple minutes!?" Sage echoed.

"Please...you've been through much worse."

"This is easily in the top five worst experiences of my life."

After a few more minutes, Marcel gave him permission to stand up and hurry to his bathroom to rinse out the liquid that Marcel had put in them. He had been right though, as soon as he let his eyelids shoot open his vision was blurred and it felt like there was a layer of hot oil across his eyes. So as soon as he got to his sink he began rubbing his eyes with cold water. Over and over again until the burning feeling was gone. Once it was he held his face up towards the mirror and examined his eyes, now they were a little red but he was almost positive that it was from the aggressive rinsing. Marcel would have rather had Sage go to his interview with obnoxious looking sunglasses before he put anything in his eyes that would have made them look worse.

"Well?" Marcel asked, "Did they work?"

"Uhh, yeah, I think so." Sage replied as he tugged his bottom lid down to check for any traces of the yellow in the whites of his eyes. "Yeah, they did." Sage assured him before turning around only to be met by him already at the door to the bathroom to make sure they worked.

"Perfect, the irritation should go down soon too. Those eye drops are no joke." Marcel stated before he turned around, "Luckily you aren't as bad as the morphlings yet."

"Yet?"

Marcel nodded but as he walked over to Sages bedside table and picked up a bottle of morphling that Sage had grown used to having by his bed every night and knowing where it was every day.

"Hey, what-"

"Don't worry, I'll keep them safe and sound for you when you get back." he grumbled.

"But I need at least two just to get through this interview, Marcel." Sage stated sternly, walking towards him with his hand out. "I will not be able to sit in front of a camera and put up with Flickerman without it." Sage added, "I'm serious."

Marcel spun around to face him, "And I'm serious. You don't need them— if you take any for the next twenty-four hours, that yellow is going to come straight back. And those drops only do so much."

Sage felt his jaw tighten, "The cameras won't even fucking pick it up, Marcel, please. Just one then-"

"Ceasar will pick it up, and next thing you know is your Prince Charming reputation turns into wasted potential from District Twelve." Marcel said, not flinching at all as Sage stood before him. The last person who had attempted to take away morphling from him had been his mother just weeks before she, Katniss, and Prim left Victors Village. And all he had to do was look down at her and get a little angry and she put them down again.

But Marcel wasn't short like her. He was used to angry tributes and victors, he was used to Sages' unstable mood swings.

He knew that Sage wouldn't actually raise a finger towards him. Sage couldn't even kill a mouse without spiraling.

"Marcel."

"Sage."

"Please."

"No." Marcel stated sternly as he shoved the bottle in his pocket. "Everything's laid out for you. They'll do your hair and any makeup you need once you're there."

"Not if I don't go." Sage stated, deciding to try a different approach.

Marcel scoffed.

Sage crossed his arms, "No. I'm serious I won't go."

Marcel rolled his eyes, "Throw a tantrum, go ahead. You've got fifteen minutes to get it out of your system. Because in twenty you and Gloss need to leave for the broadcast center."

"I'm not going."

"And lose the opportunity to get Katniss a couple of sponsors? I don't think so." Marcel stated, "Like I said, fifteen minutes," he paused holding out his hands and shrugging, "Punch a wall, cry a bit, whatever works. But you aren't getting these."

"I'm not going then, Marcel."

"Okay, fine you're not going." he shrugged as he turned around to leave the room. "But I'll see you out here in Twenty. Otherwise Cinna will come in and help me drag you out."

With that, Sage was left alone in his room. Stood there like an angry child who was mad he didn't get his way— as soon as Marcel was gone, Sage suddenly felt like an idiot. Not only had he allowed himself to feel like he needed the morphling, but he had actually claimed he wasn't going. Even though Marcel was right— this interview could easily get Katniss or even Peeta a couple of sponsors lined up for the games.

Sage sighed heavily, dropping his arms as he walked towards the bed to look at what was laid out for him.

"Guess I'm going."

Sage reluctantly pulled on the grey suit and quickly checked his eyes again, sure enough the red was already nearly gone. He made his way out of his room only to be met with a smug expression from Marcel who was seated next to Haymitch at the table poking at the food that had been laid out for lunch.

As he left the penthouse, he felt himself begin to grow anxious when he felt the jacket pocket the bottle of morphling should have been.

"That's just in your head, Sage." he told himself as he quickly made his way down the hall to the elevator.

The hum of electricity was something to distract him as he watched the floor numbers go down. Counting down to the moment the doors would open. For a fleeting moment he considered pressing the button for the top floor again, wanting to try one more time to get what he needed from Marcel. But that was a losing battle, especially with Haymitch there. If Haymitch knew just how much Sage had been using the morphling, Sage would never have any peace even back home. Despite Haymitch knowing full well he wasn't one to give advice when it came to any type of health, he'd probably force himself over to Sages' house every month to check what supplies Sage had ordered from the Capitol. But right now, Sage had no idea how this interview would go. Sage would be able to hear and see everything behind the camera, he wouldn't be able to just mindlessly pretend that he was thrilled to be there.

When the elevator doors finally opened, Sage saw Gloss waiting alongside two peacekeepers. Sage had never understood how victors could just make conversation with the peacekeepers. Although from what he saw during his Victory Tour or even his visits to District Four, the peacekeepers in other districts didn't treat Victors the same. They were friendly and helpful towards Victor's, perhaps hoping for a good word for them. That wasn't the case in twelve, the peacekeepers did next to nothing year round unless it was time for the games. So Sage never had to speak to them really, so he still avoided them when he could. As if they'd arrested him for the years of illegal hunting before his games.

"I was starting to think you weren't coming." Gloss announced once he saw Sage approaching them.

"So you could have all the attention to yourself? Not a chance." Sage replied, finding it difficult to fake a small chuckle.

The two of them were escorted to a truck that was waiting for them with two other peacekeepers. And once Gloss said his farewells to the two peacekeepers, the two were whisked away. To a building that sat low to the ground compared to the other buildings, where all of the broadcasts were sent from to the entire nation. It was like Caesar Flickerman's own personal castle, everything he said there was final. Whether it was the leather seats for the audience needed to be changed from black to yellow. Or the lighting needed to be moved entirely, if he wanted the stage or large desk for the television broadcasts moved to entirely new rooms— it happened.

"How's your sister holding up?" Gloss questioned as the two of them climbed out of the truck.

"Fine, I guess."

"Cashmere was confident when she came for her games." Gloss told him, "I was a mess." he said as he chuckled a bit as they were escorted into the building.

"You were?" Sage questioned, his brows unintentionally furrowing together. "You both had great training, you must have felt a little better about her being here."

Gloss shrugged, "Still, a year after being in the arena myself...it was a bit unsettling knowing what she was really getting into."

Sage didn't say anything.

"Not being her mentor made it a little easier." he added, "If she died I could blame her mentor. Estelle— a joke of a mentor to be honest. I'm surprised she made it to forty-six before she..." his voice drifted off briefly, "if Cash won with Estelle as her mentor. Your sister has a shot. Haymitch is a good mentor, just hasn't been lucky enough to get a good tribute since you."

Sage felt his stomach drop. He had practically forgotten that Gloss had been in this same position. He had to watch his sister go into the arena the year after him. At least Sage had a few years.

Wasted years. Years he should have tried to make sure Katniss was more prepared.

He didn't know if Katniss would win, or even Peeta. But he did know that as soon as he got home to Twelve— he would make sure Prim was ready if she ever ended up getting reaped again.

note;
im not even going to apologize for taking so long to update. im a impulsive person. That's all I can say. Lol

but I hope you enjoyed the chapter! I loved this one tbh :')
ALSO— be sure to check out my Instagram and tiktok @ reloadingwp !! I post edits over there and ones for sage quite often!!

Stay classy :)